


Coevolution: Snitch in the Snow

by unkissed



Series: Coevolution [9]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Non-Explicit Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:32:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7686472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unkissed/pseuds/unkissed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My heart hurts with longing the way it once did when we were younger, when the prospect of making him mine was as distant as the edge of the galaxy. Even though he’s perching upon me on the open field, he’s still intangible – intangible in that I can’t touch him the way I really want to touch him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coevolution: Snitch in the Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on 29 August 2014 on goaskalbus.tumblr.com
> 
> This was not intentionally written for the Coevolution series, but it sort of fits, so I'm including it.

We’re sixteen.

 

Scorpius’ thing for semi-public nudity is becoming a problem - not necessarily a problem for him, but a problem for me. I joke that one of these days he’s going to get arrested for indecent exposure. I want to be there to see the expression on his father’s face when he has to bail him out.

 

But I think, for Scorpius, it isn’t about exhibitionism at all. He just fancies being sans clothing when he can get away with it, as well as when he might not be able to get away with it.

 

We are in the latter situation right now.

 

Despite the frost on the quidditch pitch and the biting cold of the night air, he wants to play Catch the Snitch. Somehow, and I’m still in utter confusion and wonderment of exactly how, I end up with my back on the frozen grass, lying beneath a very naked, nearly hypothermic Scorpius. He must have lost the game, but I’ve already forgotten the terms of the match. I’m too busy marveling at this creature straddling my lap like an incubus from a frozen demon realm coming to devour my soul where I lie.

 

He’s the most hauntingly beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Scorpius is snow-white skin and ice-blue eyes and platinum-frost hair – he is an Arctic faerie prince. The delicate curves of boyhood have given way to severe angles of adolescence. His limbs are a bit too long for his body, and while this would prove awkward on some boys, Scorpius manages to pull it off with elegance and grace. I want to trace every line with my fingers, with my mouth, with my tongue.

 

My chest aches, and it’s not from the December air in my lungs. My heart hurts with longing the way it once did when we were younger, when the prospect of making him mine was as distant as the edge of the galaxy. Even though he’s perching upon me on the open field, he’s still intangible – intangible in that I can’t touch him the way I really want to touch him.

 

Of course, I try. I want to touch him in ways that have meaning, that have lasting effects. I want to touch him deeply, to feel him from the inside out and map his unexplored depths. My hands are splayed wide over the tops of his bare thighs. A nearly invisible sheen of golden hair makes the skin of his arms and legs glow in the moonlight. I want to tell him how lovely he is, how he sets me on fire. The words don’t materialize. They’re as frozen within my throat as the breath wafting in white puffs from Scorpius’ parted lips – lips that look entirely too purple to be healthy.

 

I’m shaken from my trance and speak with quiet alarm. “Scor. You’re turning _blue._ ”

 

“Am I?” He says, and I notice he’s shivering. “Warm me up then.” His eyes alight with mischief and his smirk does me in.

 

He’s descending upon me now, his hands on the pitch flanking either side of my head, his arms folding as he lowers himself slowly. His body covers mine and I think to myself that I should be the one covering him – he’s so very cold and I’m burning up. He swallows the entirety of my being with his kiss – the inside of his mouth is warm and inviting, and he tastes faintly of vodka (the last of the bottle he’d been stashing at the bottom of his trunk).

 

My hands roam along the rolling snow-covered hills that are the curves of his shoulder blades, the notches of his spine, the swell of his bottom. My touch is unhurried, reverently intimate. It’s a welcome change from the harried pace with which we’ve been fondling and groping each other in cramped hiding places as of late. Here, on the empty pitch, at a nearly empty school, on the first night of winter hols, we have the luxury of making every touch last, rather than making every touch count.

 

He moans into my mouth. “Why aren’t you naked?” It’s more of a lament than a question.

 

“Because I caught the snitch.” I nip his bottom lip gently.

 

“Well, you should be naked,” he decides. He sits up and I mourn the loss of the warmth that he had elicited. I can only imagine how _he_ feels without my heat. “It feels, _divine_ ,” he groans as his eyes fall closed and his hips roll slowly on top of me. Okay, so, not quite what I thought he would feel.

 

The friction awakens every nerve ending and shocks my pulse into a mad dash. I gasp softly and I’m almost embarrassed of how easily and quickly my desires have arisen, pressing firmly against the inside of my zipper.

 

“Are you not freezing your balls off, Scor?” I ask, incredulous.

 

His hands slide down his chest like a cascade of fingers, rippling over pert nipples, and his head rolls back in ecstasy. “I feel alive. Invigorated.” He rolls his hips again, but this time he grinds down _hard_. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve still got my balls.” He blesses me with a lazy grin. The fringe of his hair that falls over his eyes makes him look positively devious. I’ve never wanted anything in my life as much as I want Scorpius right now.

 

His lips are still tinged blue, as is the delicate skin beneath his eyes. He looks ghostly, and I feel a pang of guilt inside me. I’m a selfish, horny prat for letting Scorpius linger naked in this cold. “You’re crazy,” I say, shaking my head with amusement. “We need to get you properly warmed up before you lose an appendage to hypothermia,” I say with a resigned sigh as I sit up.

 

He climbs off my lap with a slight pout. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to lose _that_ appendage to hypothermia.” He eyes the tent in my trousers with a smug little grin. He knows exactly what he does to me.

 

We suddenly become aware of the time as Scorpius puts his robes on hastily. I realize that we won’t make it back to the castle in time for curfew unless we fly there. We mount our brooms and speed through the night. I can’t remember the last time I took to the air while the stars were out. The elation in my heart makes me feel like Scorpius and I could reside in the Milky Way together if we kept on flying upward and onward – like two shooting stars chasing one another around the asteroid belt. I never want to come down.

 

But the sky is cold and the orange glow coming from inside the castle is a beacon, calling us home. The night hangs promises like stars in the vast window of the universe.

 

 

We’re in our room now.

 

Everyone in the Slytherin boys’ dorms have gone to their families for the holidays, save for one first-year, who is given permission to stay in Ravenclaw Tower with his older siblings. We have the entire place to ourselves.

 

As we had watched our schoolmates leave the castle, we devised loose plans to rampage through the empty dorm tonight and set traps of exploding Christmas crackers in people’s beds, primed to detonate upon pulling back the covers when they returned. That plan is postponed indefinitely. We have new things on our agenda tonight. But really, had it not been our agenda all along?

 

 

I’ve never missed a chance to come home to mum and dad for the holidays, to see gran and gramps and all my uncles and aunts. Christmas at my grandparents’ is always a huge affair with a giant tent outside The Burrow large enough to accommodate dinner for my enormous extended family. I miss Scorpius like mad when I’m home, though.

 

So when I found out that his parents were letting him stay at Hogwarts for the week, I hesitated to leave him. At first, I tried to get him to sneak over to my house instead. But Scorpius didn’t want to impose. Even though I knew he’d be more than welcome, I didn’t push my case – I know how overwhelming it can be to spend any amount of time with my crazy family.

 

I begged mum and dad to let me stay at school under the false pretext of getting in some much needed extra studying. They were more inclined to let me, considering the state of my grades. When Teddy (Professor Teddy Lupin, I mean) was asked to stay back at the school to supervise the handful of students who’d remain there through the holidays, it just about sealed the deal for mum and dad. The odd thing is, as soon as Jamie found out Teddy and I would be staying, he asked to stay too.

 

Jamie and Teddy would be lucky to see Scorpius and I outside of meals. We were never going to study or hang out with Teddy (and definitely not with Jamie). That was never really part of our agenda, regardless of what we told ourselves or our parents. Really, what else did we expect to do but have a weeklong romp of the salacious variety?

 

 

I’m in his bed. It isn’t the first time, but it’s unlike any other time I’ve shared his bed. The curtains are pulled open to let the fire in the hearth bathe us with heat and warm light. Scorpius is naked again, and I’m beginning to think that this is going to be his default state for much of the week. I’m equally devoid of clothing and nestled between his legs, draped over his languid form. My lines and his lines blur together with sweat. All of his curves fit neatly into my hollows. We are in perfect, intimate alignment.

 

He inhales and I feel my chest expand to fill the temporary void. He sighs, wanton and needy, and I devour every blissful sound he makes. We move in perfect sync. Two hearts, one home. He steals my breath with a kiss. And I steal it right back with more vigor.

 

The night is filled with magic and meaning. I’m moved to articulate for the first time what had gone unspoken for so long. I had told Scorpius in every way but this way, with the words of my songs, with the devotion of my actions, with the reverence of my kisses. Until now.

 

A quiet, reverent moan sails across my tongue and drips onto his waiting, open mouth, carrying my soul. “I love you.”

 

 

I pull back and I wait for seconds that feel like years, my heart heavy with the weight of everything that’s brought us here. I watch Scorpius in slow motion. His brow furrows with anguish and he bites his bottom lip. The whites of his eyes become glassy. I feel his breath stutter in his chest. He’s crying. I think he’s going to break my heart and I brace myself for the worst. Every fear that has ever killed the words of love inside my throat before they could be spoken is looming above me.

 

“Oh, Albus,” he rasps out weakly, and now I think I’ve broken _his_ heart. But his fingers tangle in the back of my hair and he pulls me into a kiss that threatens to rob me of my breath and of my senses.

 

And it is into this kiss - this desperate, tear stained, heart wrenching kiss – that Scorpius breathes his truth. “I know.”

 

Between kisses and quiet gasps and soft groans and panting breaths, I say it again, over and over, with increasing emotion. “I love you… Oh gods, I love you... I love you so much.”

 

I taste his tears in my mouth and their saltiness mingles with the brine of his sweat as my mouth roams the arched pillar of his neck, down the flat expanse of his chest, over the taut skin of his abdomen, along the turgid column of his erection. Sweetness and bitterness meet the brackishness upon my tongue and meld together as he comes in my mouth.

 

It is the first of several orgasms I will conjure slowly like smoke from a simmering cauldron. And from me, he will pull them like enchanted flowers that blossom instantaneously in his deft grasp.

 

It’s dawn when the last one rips through me and threatens to tear me to pieces as the fire in the hearth is reduced to embers and the deep blue-green of early morning ripples through the lake, down to the portholes in the ceiling.

 

When we fall asleep in a heap of sweat-slicked limbs and tangled bed sheets, I dream what I always dream of - Twinkling stars, silver-blue eyes, and fame. And when I wake up in the afternoon to the insistent nudge of his arousal behind me, and his hot breath on the back of my neck, and his lithe arms folding me up in his love, I won’t hesitate to tell him again.

 

“I love you.”

 

I’ll never stop telling him.


End file.
